


Living Easy, Living Free

by Winnywriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Night Stands, References to Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a one-night stand, Dean can't shake the feeling that he and Castiel share some kind of special connection. Not too bad considering he met him in a gay bar of all places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Easy, Living Free

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the [2013 Dean/Cas Happy Endings Challenge](http://dchappyendings.livejournal.com/). :) Written thanks to a prompt from [Cam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_charlie), who also beta'd for me.
> 
> Also, sorry about the weird spacing. AO3 does that to me every time I copy paste from Google Docs. And trust me, it's a pain in the ass to go in and fix it line by line.

Dean clutched his jacket close to his chest as he shuffled in from the downpour outside, the steady thrum of music pounding heavy on his ribs as he let the door slide shut behind him and made his way over to the bar. It wasn't too crowded on a Thursday night, and he found a seat easily, not too far from the emergency exit; not a conscious choice, but it did make him more comfortable to have an escape route, not that he thought he'd need it.

****

The air smelled almost sweet with a sharp alcoholic tang; if Dean had to place it, he'd say it smelled vaguely of margaritas. Not exactly unpleasant, and honestly, it beat the familiar cigarettes-and-beer scent of the last bar he'd been to. He ran his knuckles over the scuffed mahogany finish of the bar and shifted in his seat, casting a cursory glance over his shoulder before flagging down the bartender.

****

“Welcome to the Mystery Spot,” said the sandy-haired man who approached him and leaned across the counter, sucking on a hard candy as he regarded Dean with one eyebrow lazily quirked. “Drink of the night is our Macho Margarita. You interested?”

****

Dean met his bright amber gaze and licked his lips; the guy was on the short side of average, his lips pursed as he sucked on the candy in his mouth and waited for his order. Pinned to his chest was a name tag that read “Gabriel” with a little halo drawn over the “A.” Overall, not bad, but not what Dean was looking for tonight.

****

“Think I'll stick with a Jack Daniels. Neat.”

****

Gabriel shrugged. “Suit yourself. Comin' right up.” As he went to get the drink, Dean turned in his seat, scanning the room. A few couples danced between him and the booths that lined the far wall; one or two guys danced alone, and still others were leaning against the wall near the jukebox – the fact that this place had an honest-to-God jukebox both surprised and delighted him – and out of the corner of his eye he noticed one couple making out rather energetically at a table near the door.

****

He turned toward the bar again and glanced down at the glass that was waiting for him there, Gabriel leaning on the counter just beyond it. “One Jack Daniels, nice and neat. Want some nuts to go with that?”

****

Dean blinked at him, and Gabriel grabbed a bowl of cashews and almonds and set it on the counter next to the glass with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Funny,” Dean said.

****

“I can be.” He grabbed one of the cashews out of the bowl and popped it in his mouth. “You got a name?”

****

Dean paused a moment, several names stumbling across his tongue and dying behind his lips before he finally forced out, “Michael.” Gabriel gazed at him a moment as if he didn't believe him, and Dean sipped his drink.

****

“Don't think I've seen you around here before.”

****

“You remember everyone who comes in here?”

****

“I got a good memory for faces. Yours ain't up here.” Gabriel lazily tapped on his temple.

****

Dean shrugged. “New in town.” Not technically true, and not technically a lie; but then again, he wasn't about to tell some Biblically named bartender that he'd driven forty-five minutes on I-70 to get far enough out of Lawrence that nobody would stumble in and find him sitting in a gay bar on a rainy Thursday night.

****

“Well, Michael,” Gabriel said, untying his apron, “You should come back on a Monday night sometime. Try one of the banana daiquiris. My specialty.” He winked, and Dean nodded stiffly and tipped his drink vaguely in his direction as Gabriel sauntered off, calling, “I'm punching out before this damn storm gets any worse,” and tossing his apron in a bin under the counter. He fist-bumped another guy mixing drinks on his way out and disappeared around the corner.

****

Dean sighed and sipped his drink, and he was just starting to get the vibe that tonight wouldn't be his night when someone sat down beside him. He glanced up just in time to meet a pair of vibrant blue eyes, and the hand that had made its way into the bowl of nuts beside him paused at the rim.

****

“Do you mind?” the man said in a voice that reminded Dean of gravel on sandpaper. It took him a moment to nod.

****

“Go ahead. I don't even like almonds anyway.”

****

“Funny.” He smiled and grabbed an almond, biting it in half and chewing thoughtfully.

****

“What do you mean?”

****

“I don't like cashews.” The other half of the nut disappeared between his (admittedly pretty damn nice) lips, and Dean found himself smiling. The man extended a hand to him. “I'm Castiel by the way.”

****

Dean took it and shook. “D-...Michael.” Castiel tilted his head to one side. “Something wrong?”

****

“I have a brother named Michael is all. And you don't look very much like a Michael.”

****

“What do I look like then?”

****

Castiel shrugged. “I don't know. Just not a Michael.” He raised his hand, flagging down the bartender who approached in Gabriel's stead. “Can I get a vodka gimlet please?”

****

“Sure you don't want the Macho Margarita?” Dean joked. Castiel laughed, or at least Dean thought it was a laugh; it was such a small sound that it was difficult to tell.

****

“Always was a little too sweet for me. My brother always loved them, but I mostly prefer my drinks a bit more bitter.”

****

“Michael?”

****

Castiel shook his head. “No. Another brother.”

****

“You got a lot?” Dean asked, eyebrows hiking up. “Of brothers I mean?”

****

“I come from a big family, yes. It was...loud growing up.”

****

“I bet,” Dean chuckled. “Hell, I only have one younger brother, and I almost went crazy sometimes.”

****

“Siblings can do that.” Castiel nodded his thanks when his drink arrived, and he sipped it gingerly before grabbing another almond from the bowl. “What's his name? Your brother? Or would you rather keep that to yourself?”

****

“I don't mind. His name's Sammy. Well, Sam, but I call him Sammy.” He figured there wasn't much point in lying about his brother's name; after all, his brother hardly needed an alias when he'd never get closer to this place than being in a passing mention in a conversation with a stranger. “You got any little brothers?”

****

Castiel frowned, pausing a moment before saying, “No.” He took a generous sip of his cocktail and gazed pointedly at the bar, and Dean got the sinking feeling that he'd done something wrong. Castiel took a breath, grabbed another three almonds and nibbled at them before adding, “I'm the youngest.” Dean took a handful of cashews and ate them one by one, wracking his brain to think of something to stave off the inevitable awkward silence that seemed to to be closing in.

****

He glanced over at the jukebox, and suddenly, the only thing that came to mind was, “Do you want to dance?”

****

Castiel looked just as surprised as Dean felt when the words left his mouth. He wasn't a dancer, never had been. But slowly, Castiel started to smile, and he nodded. “Sure.” He knocked back the rest of his drink in one go, and got up, heading away from the bar. Dean swallowed the last of his drink as well and slapped a couple of bills on the counter before following him.

****

“One sec,” he said, passing Castiel and going over to the jukebox. “If we're gonna do this, I need some good tunes.”

****

He made his way back over to Castiel after making his selection just as the opening chords blasted over to speakers, and Castiel grinned at him. “Who is this?” he asked over the sound of the music. Dean gaped at him.

****

“Dude, haven't you ever heard of AC/DC?”

****

“I didn't know this was them.”

****

“That's just not okay.” He rolled his eyes, and Castiel looked vaguely like somebody had kicked his puppy. “Hey, don't worry about it. I'll educate you in the ways of classic rock sometime if you want?”

****

“That a promise?”

****

“Maybe.”

****

Dean started to sway, unsure of what to do with himself. He never asked guys to dance, and never accepted on the rare occasion that they asked him. It just wasn't his thing, and he couldn't help but feel somewhat conspicuous. Castiel, however, wasn't shy about getting up close and personal. He draped his arms over Dean's shoulders and pressed their chests together, closing his eyes and moving to the music, hips swaying back and forth against Dean's. And Dean had to admit it was...just a little bit hot.

****

Maybe a lot more than that, even.

****

Slowly, he started to mirror Castiel's movements, pushing their hips together and moving in tandem as Bon Scott's voice echoed through the bar: “ _I'm on a hiiiiiiiiiiiiiighway to Hell._ ” He ran his hands over Castiel's shoulders, across his arms, feeling the hard lines of his muscles moving beneath his cotton shirt, and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He glanced down and caught Castiel gazing up at him, glimpses of blue flashing between his lashes, a harsh cool contrast to the warm pink that stained his cheeks.

****

This was what Dean had come here for, and what he'd feared he wouldn't be able to get. He barely knew this Castiel, but all trace of self-consciousness had vanished with the first few tentative movements of their bodies swaying in sync. His tension melted away, all the pent-up anxiety that came with keeping this part of his life a secret from everyone he knew becoming a distant memory, at least for the moment. The relief was addictive, and he didn't want it to end with this one song, or with a few drinks. He wanted this night to stretch on for as long as he could keep it.

****

Which was why when Castiel leaned forward at the end of the song, and breathlessly whispered in his ear, “Pardon my forwardness, but do you want to go somewhere a little more...private?” he didn't need more than a moment's thought before answering, “Hell yes.”

****

* * *

 

Castiel's apartment was small, but well-kept; maybe Dean would have filed it under “boring,” but he was hardly going to question Castiel's taste in decorating at a time like this. The moment they got through the door, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, pressing their hips together like they'd done when they'd danced at the bar, and drew him into a slow and exploratory kiss.

****

“Your apartment is nice,” Dean said breathlessly as they stumbled toward the bedroom. Castiel's back slammed into the wall by the door, and Dean braced his hand against the door frame, tracing his tongue across Castiel's bottom lip.

****

Castiel pulled away for breath just long enough to say, “It's a roof over my head. That's all I need.” He pressed his mouth against Dean's again, fumbling for the doorknob and tugging Dean into his darkened bedroom when he finally managed to open it.

****

They turned, and the back of Dean's knees hit the edge of the bed just seconds before he tumbled backward and landed on it with a bounce. Castiel crawled up over him, pressing kisses to his neck and humming against his skin. Dean bit his lip and suppressed a moan, his hands trailing up Castiel's sides and pulling his shirt over his head.

****

Dean's eyes were adjusting to the dark, and the rain had cleared up a bit, so a faint trail of moonlight shone through the bedroom window; it was enough for Dean to get a look at the guy who was unbuttoning his shirt as his teeth skimmed teasingly across his Adam's apple. He had a skinny runner's body, all firm muscle and sinews twitching beneath his lightly tanned skin. Dean reached up, his hand trailing over the dark hair peppering his chest, and Castiel let out a tiny moan. He glanced down at him, blue glinting fiercely in the moonlight, and undid the last button on Dean's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with what Dean could swear was a growl.

****

Dean let his hand wander over the curve of Castiel's back, slipping it into his back pocket and grinning as Castiel pressed back against it. Castiel retaliated quickly, hand snaking down between their bodies and massaging Dean through his jeans.

****

“Fuck...” Dean groaned, bucking up off the bed as Castiel deftly undid the button and zipper with one hand. “Hey Cas...wanna know something?”

****

Castiel hummed against his collar bone. “What's that?”

****

“My name's not really Michael.” He smirked. He was getting tired of the alias anyway, and if he was going to be listening to someone moan his name, it might as well be his real name.

****

“Oh, thank God,” Castiel breathed. Dean chuckled.

****

“I thought you'd be pissed.”

****

Castiel shook his head. “Relieved actually.” When Dean cocked one eyebrow questioningly, he said, “I would have felt just the slightest bit weird moaning my brother's name tonight...”

****

Dean's chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh, and he stroked his fingers through Castiel's hair. “Yeah...I can understand that.”

****

“So...” Castiel mumbled, leaning down to lick and suck across the skin of Dean's neck again, “What name _should_ I be moaning?”

****

“Dean,” he told him.

****

“Dean,” Castiel repeated, thoughtfully, and as he spoke, he reached inside Dean's pants, wrapping his deft fingers around his growing erection and stroking. “ _Dean_...”

****

Dean ground his hips upward with a moan. “Sounds good when you say it.” He fumbled with Castiel's belt buckle, finally managing to get it undone and dragging it through his belt loops before tossing it aside.

****

Castiel took his hands off Dean, unzipping his own pants and pushing them down off his hips, along with – Dean noticed when he ground down against him again – his underwear. Dean let his hands wander, bending his knees and letting Castiel sink between them as his palms skimmed down Castiel's sides, his fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs and pulling him closer.

****

“How's it fair that you're naked already, and I'm still in my damn jeans?” Dean asked, leaning up to nip at Castiel's jaw.

****

“It's not,” Castiel said with a gasp. “Get them off if you're so eager.” Dean arched his back, pushing them down and kicking them off, letting them fall off the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders and pulled him close, tongue pushing past his teeth and letting him taste the vague vodka-tinged lime tang of Castiel's mouth.

****

Dean dragged his blunt fingernails over Castiel's shoulder blades and asked, “You got lube?” Castiel nodded. “Rubber?” The weight left him as Castiel crawled over to the bedside table, opening the drawer there and drawing out a bottle and a foil packet.

****

Dean sat up, grabbing the packet and the bottle from Castiel and ripping the packaging open. He rolled the condom over Castiel's erection, stroking just a few times for good measure and grinning against his lips as Castiel let out a soft, sighing moan. He grabbed Castiel's hand and poured a healthy amount onto his fingers, holding his gaze as he did and hoping Castiel would get the message.

****

Castiel grinned as he pushed Dean onto his back and settled on his haunches between his knees. “Didn't think you'd be one for bottoming,” he said. His hand dragged over Dean's penis, making him bite his lip.

****

“Aren't you not supposed to judge a book by its cover?” Dean chuckled.

****

“Guess not,” Castiel agreed, cocking his head to one side and leaning downward. His fingers pressed behind Dean's balls and teased their way between his cheeks, bumping against Dean's tight rim, and Dean whined, letting his legs fall farther apart to let Castiel work.

****

Castiel stretched him slowly, crooking his fingers in ways that made Dean squirm with every brush of his prostate, and when Dean reached down and tugged at his hair, groaning, “I'm ready...” Castiel grabbed the lube again. Dean stared up at the ceiling as Castiel slicked himself up, until his gleaming blue eyes filled his vision as Castiel brought their bodies flush together.

****

Dean moaned, gripping at the sheets as Castiel pushed inside, and God, that man's face was gorgeous as he buried himself to the hilt. He moved slow, hips undulating in a calculated, tide-like rhythm, every thrust drawing raw, broken noises from Dean's throat. He leaned in to nip at Dean's neck as Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders and his legs around his waist. His heels dug into the flesh of Castiel's back, and Castiel groaned into his neck.

****

Profanities spilled from Dean's lips as Castiel brushed his prostate, and Castiel, like he could read Dean's thoughts, angled his hips to do so again, and again, until Dean was shaking with it. “You're like a fucking mind reader,” Dean groaned.

****

“I can't read minds,” Castiel said, voice trailing off on a gasp. “I can read people. The way you moan when I do this-” He rolled his hips, and Dean did indeed moan just as he'd said, fingernails dragging across Castiel's skin. “...tells me all I need to know.”

****

Dean growled, pushing his hips down and loving the reaction it got: Castiel’s jaw going slack and a low whine ripping itself from throat. He leaned in, capturing the sound with a kiss to silence him, and he dragged his fingers through Castiel’s hair before reaching down to stroke himself, slowly, in time with Castiel’s thrusts as they regained their previous, smooth rhythm. He bent his knees even more, letting Castiel sink into the space he made for him between them, his free hand skimming down Castiel’s back and kneading the flesh of his thigh, egging him on, trying to pick up the pace.

****

“Faster...” Dean said. “Fuck, Cas, _faster_.”

****

In one smooth movement, Castiel withdrew, wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders and flipped them, smirking up at him and letting his hands wander down Dean’s sides. “Your pace, then,” he said, as he guided Dean’s hips down, letting him sink down onto him again, and Dean’s jaw went slack. He braced his hands on Castiel’s chest and started to move, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel’s gorgeous face as he did.

****

Castiel’s hands traveled over every inch of Dean they could reach, as if he were trying to memorize his flesh before he came, and the soft brush of fingernails against Dean’s nipple made him whine helplessly. Castiel grinned smugly and Dean made it his personal mission to wipe that smirk from his face if he could help it.

****

He was the first to falter, though, Castiel reaching down and taking Dean in his hand, still smirking as he did, and stroking him quickly. Dean’s head fell back, neck stretching out as Castiel’s thumb brushed over the head of his penis.

****

Castiel began to buck his hips against Dean’s downward thrusts, until he was moving erratically, his smile gone and replaced with a slack jaw, his eyes glazing over. Dean knew what it meant, and his heart raced with the need to see it. He leaned forward, breathing in Castiel’s ear, “You gonna come for me? C’mon...want to see it. Bet you look fuckin’ beautiful when you do...Come on, Cas...”

****

And Castiel did, hips arching off the bed, a broken half-scream wrenching itself from his throat as he came. Dean rode him through it, knocking Castiel’s hand out of the way as he grasped his own erection, stroking frantically, chasing his own orgasm as Castiel gasped the last of his out. Castiel watched through half-lidded blue eyes as Dean tensed, and all he had to say was, “Come for me, Dean,” and Dean did, like it had been punched out of him.

****

Dean fell against Castiel's shoulder and grinned as he caught his breath. Cas' skin was warm and sweaty against his forehead, but he didn't care, and he was far too satisfied to move just yet. And when Castiel reached up to thread his fingers through Dean's hair, well...he had to admit that he was more content than he had been in a good long while.

****

When he voiced this – somewhat without even realizing he was doing so – Castiel hummed questioningly, and Dean glanced up at him. “I don't know, this was just...damn I think it was just what I needed, you know?”

****

“Glad I could help,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean chuckled again, feeling just a tad bit giddy in the afterglow. As his heart rate slowed and he started to get uncomfortably warm, he sat up and rolled off, collapsing back against the pillow and staring up at the moonlight streaked ceiling. He was just tracing the line of a fine crack in the plaster with his gaze when Castiel spoke up again: “If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing in the bar tonight?”

****

Dean shrugged. “Felt like going out.”

****

“You just don't seem like the type to hang around gay bars.”

****

“Neither do you.”

****

“I know people who work there. I show up once a week or so as a courtesy to them more than anything else.” He scratched the back of his neck, and added, almost sheepishly, “I don't usually bring people home.”

****

“What made me so different, then?”

****

“You just...seemed different.”

****

“Yeah, but why?”

****

Castiel thought about it a moment, and then said, “You like cashews.”

****

Dean arched an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Lots of people like cashews.”

****

“You played AC/DC.”

****

“Lots of people like AC/DC.”

****

“You asked me to dance.”

****

Dean stared at him, furrowing his brow. “Are you not used to getting asked to dance?”

****

“Not by people like you,” Castiel mused with a shake of his head.

****

“What do you mean, people like me?”

****

“You don't ask people to dance.”

****

“How do you know that?”

****

“I could tell by the way you asked me. You were more surprised by it than I was.”

****

“Well...yeah.” Dean played with the hem of the bedspread. “I guess...you were just different is all.”

****

“Different how?”

****

“Just different.”

****

“But _how?_ ”

****

Dean paused a moment, then grinned at him. “You like almonds.”

****

Castiel laughed to himself, pushing a stray strand of dark hair out of his face. He lay back against the pillow and let out a long breath; Dean watched him contemplate the same crack he'd been gazing at earlier for a moment or two before Castiel mumbled, “I've never seen you around here before.”

****

“Not from around here,” Dean said with a shrug.

****

“Then what were you doing hanging around the Mystery Spot?”

****

“I told you, I felt like going out.” He glanced over at Castiel, who was staring at him intently, as if waiting for the rest of that thought. Slowly, Dean let out a soft sigh and twiddled his fingers under the blanket. “And I...didn't want to go anywhere local.”

****

“Needed a change of scenery?”

****

“Well yeah, and...Let's just say I'm not exactly making my private life public. To anyone really.”

****

Castiel looked him over once or twice before nodding in understanding. “You're...not out yet?”

****

“Nope.”

****

“Is it...your family?”

****

Dean laughed half-heartedly. “Not a whole lot of family to tell, honestly, but...yeah, I guess.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “See, my mom died when I was little, so it was just my dad and my little brother and me. Not like my dad's super religious or anything. Not even close. But it was real important to him that we grow up to be strong and masculine and all that.” He turned toward Castiel and quickly amended, “Not that there's anything un-masculine about being...”

****

“It's alright,” Cas assured him, pressing his palm against Dean's shoulder. “I understand what you're saying. You're worried that he might think that way, so if you tell him you're gay...”

****

“I'm not gay,” Dean mumbled. When Castiel arched his eyebrows at him, he added, “I like women too. So I guess that makes me...”

****

“Bisexual?”

****

“Yeah.”

****

Castiel shrugged. “Still nothing wrong with that.”

****

“Yeah, I know.”

****

“What about your brother? What was his name? Sam? Or is that a fake name too?”

****

“No, that's his real name,” Dean chuckled. “Some part of me actually wonders if he doesn't already know...I guess I just don't want to run the risk of losing his respect.”

****

“Do you think you would?”

****

“No, but I don't want to take the chance.” He frowned at the blanket, letting the silence drag on and wondering if Cas would say anything else. When he didn't, Dean looked up and asked, “What about your brothers?”

****

“What about them?”

****

“Do they...know?”

****

“I never hid it from them. Hard to hide anything when a house is that crowded.”

****

“You had a lot of them, then?”

****

“Yeah.”

****

“Really all older?”

****

Castiel hesitated a moment before saying, “Yes.”

****

“Damn, I can't imagine that. I mean, I never had a big brother, but I drive Sammy up a wall anyway. I know that much. If he had to put up with more than one of me, he'd probably go insane.” He laughed to himself, and Castiel managed a smile.

****

“You sound close.”

****

“Me and Sammy? We kind of had to be. My dad wasn't around much when we were kids. Always going off on these weird hunting trips and leaving us alone...” He frowned at the memory. “I kinda raised Sam myself, before I even knew I was doing it. Couldn't help but get close.”

****

Castiel listened intently, and Dean felt himself closing up again. He couldn't even begin to think of what the hell had possessed him to say those things in the first place; Cas was almost a stranger to him, and yet he was telling him all about his childhood and his family, or what little broken remains there were of it. Maybe that was why he was so seemingly comfortable telling him: because he was a stranger. There was no need to ask for trust or confidence. The next day, they'd go their separate ways and Castiel would forget about him, his music, his car and his family problems.

****

It was a less comforting thought than he'd hoped.

****

So he sat up against the headboard and folded his hands in his lap. “I thought I'd be ready to pass out after what we did,” he said with a laugh.

****

“You don't seem like it,” Castiel observed.

****

“I'm not even tired. Actually I'm hungry. You got any pie?”

****

“Don't think so.”

****

“Story of my life.”

****

The bed rattled with Castiel's amused laugh. “You're welcome to raid my fridge if you like. I could go for some food too, actually.”

****

* * *

 

They lazily pulled on some clothes – Castiel's shirt was inside out and Dean forwent his own altogether – and went to the kitchen, and Castiel leaned against the counter as he watched the hot dogs rotate on the plate in the microwave.

****

“How did your mother die?” Castiel asked, and as soon as the question tripped past his lips, he covered his mouth with his hand as if he wished he could reel it back in. “I'm sorry...that's too personal.”

****

“It is personal,” Dean agreed, tugging the pull-tab off a Sprite and downing half of it in one go. “But who am I kidding? I've dumped plenty of personal shit on you already. What the hell?” He shrugged and put the soda on the counter as Castiel regarded him carefully, ready to listen. “Not too much to tell, really. I was little. Our house caught fire. It started in Sammy's room, an electric short or something, they said. We all got out okay, except her...”

****

Castiel chewed on his lip and stared at his fingernails before looking back up at Dean to say, “I'm sorry.”

****

“Sam barely remembers her. I don't know if I should count him lucky or not.”

****

“Why?”

****

Dean picked up his soda again and hid behind a long sip. “Can't miss what you never had, you know?”

****

The microwave beeped loudly, and Castiel turned to pull the hot dogs out and tuck them into buns. He handed one on a plate to Dean and sat across from him at the kitchen table. They both turned toward the window and watched as the rain picked up again and pattered against the glass.

****

“What are your parents like?” Dean asked. Castiel concentrated on spreading mustard over his hotdog before cocking his head thoughtfully to one side.

****

“I actually know a thing or two about absent fathers,” he said. “My dad left when I was little.”

****

“Just like that? Up and left you and your brothers?”

****

“And my mother. She was...” Castiel sighed, taking a bite of his hotdog and chewing it as he gathered his words. “She was stern.”

****

“That all the description you can think of?”

****

“It fits her.” He set his food down and leaned against the table, hunching over, appearing deep in thought, like he was dredging up a distant memory. “I was just five or six when I started realizing I was different from most of my brothers, from others my age. When I tried to tell her, tried to ask her what it was that I was feeling, she...wasn't happy.”

****

Dean frowned. “What, that you were...gay?” Castiel nodded.

****

“Of course, I didn't know that was what it was at the time. Nobody told me. Nobody talked about it. My mother tried to convince me that I should be...” He swallowed, the words seeming to taste bad in his mouth. “...fixed. Like I was broken.”

****

“Geez...”

****

“I never listened to her. I couldn't believe that there was anything wrong with me, that I was somehow defective. My siblings helped me...” He smiled fondly. “I don't think I ever would have gotten anywhere without them.”

****

“Tell me about 'em,” Dean requested, picking at his hotdog bun and popping the pieces of bread that came off in his fingers on his tongue.

****

“Michael is the oldest. He was hit hardest by my father's leaving. He always hung on his every word, wanted to be just like him. After Dad left, it was like he didn't know what to do with himself anymore, so he started fighting...with Lucas, the second oldest. Their fights, they were...Biblical. Horrible. The youngest of us used to hide in Gabe's room as he went to try and mediate.”

****

“Gabe?”

****

“The fourth oldest. He hated to see them fight, more than I did, I think. More than any of us. Finally, Lucas left the moment he turned eighteen. Well...I say left, but it was more like Michael drove him out.”

****

“Your oldest brother kicked him out of the damn house? Shit, this Michael guy sounds like a piece of work. I'm almost sorry I borrowed his name.”

****

“He left not long after Lucas. I've barely spoken to either of them since. The third oldest, Raphael, went off to medical school. Became a doctor. Gabe lives around here, actually. I lived with him for a bit after college before I could get my own place. My only sister, Anna...she's a photographer now. Married. Balthazar is just a year older than me. He lives in Europe. He sends me postcards.” Castiel smiled, gesturing over toward the living room, and Dean glanced at the postcards lining the window sills, mirroring Cas' expression.

****

“One hell of a family,” he said.

****

Castiel nodded, took a breath, and said, “And then there was...Sam.”

****

“You got a Sam too?”

****

“My little brother...”

****

“You're shitting me. I thought you said you were the youngest. You have a little brother?”

****

“I...did.” Dean's grin faded. “He...died. When we were children.”

****

“Oh.”

****

Castiel pursed his lips into a hard line, tracing the edge of his plate with one finger and not looking at Dean as he continued, “We were playing in the yard. I was just twelve years old. He was eight. I threw the ball too hard and it landed on the curb across the road. Sam went to get it and...” He paused, took a breath, swallowing thickly. “Some bastard came speeding down our street. Didn't see him. Didn't even have the decency to stay. He took off before anyone could do anything, and my brother...”

****

He hunched over again, rubbing his temples, and all Dean could think to say was, “Jesus Christ...” Castiel let out a breathy, bitter laugh, forced and pained, and it just made Dean's chest ache.

****

“I haven't told anyone that in...God, I don't know how long.”

****

“You know it wasn't your fault, right?” Castiel furrowed his eyebrows questioningly and tilted his head to one side. “I mean you threw a ball too hard and some asshole wasn't paying attention to the road. That's not your fault.”

****

“For a long time I thought it was...thought my mother was right, that I needed to be fixed. I thought maybe if I'd let her fix what was wrong with me that this wouldn't have happened.”

****

“That's bullshit, Cas! It had nothing to do with that-”

****

“I know,” Castiel assured him. “I know that now...but then, it was hard. I just wanted something to latch onto, to blame, and I was the easiest target.”

****

Dean sighed, and stood, and Castiel barely had time to ask him what he was doing before Dean was leaning over and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, holding him tight. “You're not broken, Cas.”

****

Slowly, Castiel held him in return, and Dean could hear the faint smile in his voice as he said, “I know. But I guess it is nice to hear it.”

****

* * *

 

They fell asleep not long after, leaving their plates unwashed on the table and sinking into the now cool sheets on Castiel's memory foam bed. In the morning, Castiel made coffee – rich and strong with just a hint of cinnamon – and Dean gathered his things, grabbing his car keys from where they'd tumbled from his jeans pocket onto Cas' carpeted bedroom floor, and headed for the front door.

****

“Dean,” Castiel called, and Dean turned in the doorway. He took the piece of folded paper that Castiel handed him before glancing up at him curiously. Cas smiled nervously. “I know you're not from around here, and that this isn't really part of your life that you're ready to...open up just yet. And I know this was really meant to just be a one-night thing, but...I'd like to see you again, sometime.”

****

Dean smiled, unfolding the paper and looking over the numbers scrawled on it. “I think I'd like that, Cas,” he said, before he even realized he was speaking. When he looked back up, Castiel had the biggest smile on his face that Dean had seen since meeting him the night before.

****

Had it really been less than twelve hours? It felt like so much more.

****

He tucked the paper into his back pocket and glanced around him before leaning in to press a kiss to Castiel's chapped lips, and after saying their goodbyes, Dean headed down to his car and started the drive back home.

****

He didn't notice the hole in his pocket until he'd stepped through his own front door.

****

* * *

 

After scouring the Impala twice, and retracing his steps back and forth between it and his apartment more times than he could count, Dean cursed and punched the door frame. He winced and held his hand to his chest, blood flowing from his split knuckles, and he berated himself over and over for not giving Castiel his number in return.

****

But maybe it was for the best. As hard as it was to convince himself of that, given everything they'd shared, maybe it was better that this remained a one-night stand, as they had always intended. He'd opened up too quickly, he told himself, told Castiel too much in too short a time. It couldn't be healthy. And besides, Castiel was a man, and while Dean had mostly come to terms with his own desires, it was exhausting enough keeping his occasional rendezvous a secret without having to hide an entire relationship from everyone he knew.

****

But telling Cas those things...it had felt good. It had been amazing, seeing how intently he listened, how sincerely he cared. His heart skipped at the very thought of it, and he immediately pretended it hadn't because first of all, Dean Winchester's heart did not _skip_ , and second – and more importantly – he couldn't afford to let it.

****

He needed to talk. He needed someone to listen. And since he obviously couldn't call Cas, he picked up his phone and dialed Sam.

****

* * *

 

“Dean what are you calling me for at nine in the morning on a Friday?” Sam asked when he picked up, though he sounded perfectly awake to Dean. “How are you even up and functioning this early?”

****

“Well I had someone to wake me up this morning, for a start,” Dean said, pointedly leaving out the fact that Castiel had done so with a rather magnificent blowjob. Sam sighed into the receiver, causing static to bloom on Dean's end.

****

“Thanks for that info. Why are you calling me anyway? Did you just do it to gloat?”

****

“No. I...fuck, Sam, you're never going to let this go, but I need some advice...”

****

There was radio silence on the other end for a solid ten seconds before Sam said, “You're right. I'm never going to let this go.”

****

“Shut up, bitch.”

****

“What do you need?”

****

“Okay, short version?”

****

“If by short version, you leave out the disgusting details of the sex you had last night, then yes, absolutely. Short version.”

****

“Like you're not interested.”

****

“I'm _not_.”

****

“Okay, okay. Well, short version: I went to a bar, I met...somebody. We went home, had some fun.”

****

“And? What, did she catch you sneaking out at two in the morning?”

****

“No! That's just it...we didn't go to sleep after. We stayed up...and talked. For hours. I said things I haven't told anyone since God knows when. I just can't help feeling like we had some kind of weird connection...”

****

“So what are you talking to me for? You're not just going to let this go as a one-night stand, are you?”

****

“I don't know...”

****

“ _Dean_. I know you've got a skull thicker than anyone's I've ever seen, but you can't keep running around sleeping with random women forever. If you like her...call her. Take her to dinner somewhere nice. See if this can...I don't know, become something.”

****

“That's just it. I lost the number.”

****

“You what?”

****

“He wrote it down for me, and there was a hole in my pocket and I didn't realize it until I-”

****

Wait.

****

Oh.

****

Shit.

****

He fell silent just in time to hear Sam do exactly the same until his little brother asked, “He?”

****

“Um...”

****

“Wait, so...you were with a guy last night?”

****

“I...” Dean let out a sigh. “Shit...Sam, I...”

****

“Call him.”

****

“What?”

****

“I said call him.”

****

“I told you, I lost the number. And you're not...freaking out or anything?”

****

“Why would I be freaking out?”

****

“Because...”

****

“What, because you were with a guy? Why should that matter?” Dean was silent, staring out the window. “You're my brother, Dean. I'm more worried about the fact that you seem like you're all too ready to just throw this away when it clearly meant something to you. So if you lost the number, go to the bar where you met him and find him. Just...Dean, don't treat it like nothing.”

****

“And you're seriously not freaking out?”

****

“Do you want me to?”

****

“No! God no...Just...fuck, Sammy...thanks.”

****

“For what? For trying to beat some sense into you?”

****

“For...yeah, for that.”

****

“Are you going to go find him?”

****

“Yeah...maybe.”

****

Sam sighed, thankfully pulling the receiver away from his mouth this time before he did. “You're an idiot sometimes.”

****

“Shut up, bitch.”

****

“Jerk.”

****

Dean smiled fondly. “See ya, Sammy.”

****

“Okay. If I find out you let this go, I'm punching you in the nose next time I see you.”

****

“Duly noted,” Dean said, and he hung up.

****

* * *

 

Dean didn't go back to the bar. Not that weekend, and not the following week. He didn't go out anywhere; he came straight home from work and sat in his apartment, half-watching a different Marvel movie every night while thinking things over. By the next Saturday, he was almost nauseous with guilt.

****

He couldn't go back to that bar, especially not now. Cas probably hated him, thought he'd blown him off, and while he was having a harder and harder time trying to convince himself that it was for the best, he still couldn't get the thought out of his head. Castiel deserved better than somebody who was too cowardly to track him down and tell him how he really felt. He deserved someone honest, someone dependable, and that was not Dean Winchester. At least not according to Dean Winchester.

****

But he couldn't stop thinking of what they'd said to each other, about the way Castiel's eyes had downright sparkled as he'd told him about his little brother, about how vulnerable he'd allowed himself to be because he trusted Dean, for whatever reason. He couldn't stop thinking about how good it had felt to tell Cas about his mother, about his brother, about his fears and his doubts and his hopes. It had felt so good to get it off of his own chest, and more than that, it had felt so good to have somebody listen – _really_ listen – to everything he had to say.

****

Dean didn't know how he managed it, but that Monday night, a week and a half after he'd met Cas in that bar, he was on the highway again heading for the Mystery Spot.

****

He pulled into the parking lot and strode inside, scanning the room, but he didn't see Castiel anywhere. One familiar face did stand out though: the bartender standing at the blender behind the counter. Dean went up to him and leaned on the bar.

****

“Hey, Gabriel, right?” Gabriel turned and arched an eyebrow at him, his expression darkening when he saw his face.

****

“Oh look who it is. Michael? Or is it Dean?”

****

Dean furrowed his brow. “How do you-”

****

“Course, I'd know you better as the guy who stood up my little brother.”

****

Realization poured over him like cold water. “You're Gabe.”

****

“Only my brother calls me that. It's Gabriel to you.”

****

“You sound like someone I know,” Dean muttered.

****

“Yeah, well you sound like a douchebag. What are you doing here? Trying to pick up some other unsuspecting guy to make them think you actually care before you skip town and forget to call? Is that how you get your kicks?”

****

“No! I wanted to call, but I lost his number, and-”

****

Gabriel laughed, loudly and harshly. “Great excuse. Never heard that one before.”

****

“I'm serious!”

****

“I bet.”

****

Dean leaned across the counter, grabbing Gabriel's sleeve when he tried to turn away. “Look, I'm a big brother too, okay? I get it. If someone did something like this to Sammy, I'd want to bash their head in.” Gabriel's eyes flashed at the name, and Dean's chest ached with the knowledge of why. “I'm sorry, okay? And I don't give a shit how cheesy and stupid it sounds, this is damn near the closest I've ever been to being in love with somebody in years, so can't you just give me his number?”

****

He pulled back, holding Gabriel's gaze despite how hard it was under such scrutiny. Finally, he added, somewhat breathlessly, “Please.”

****

Gabriel looked him up and down once more before sighing and saying, “No.”

****

“But-” He stopped when Gabriel held up a hand and pointed toward a booth in the far corner.

****

“Just go talk to the poor guy yourself for crying out loud.”

****

Dean squinted; he was hard to see in the shadows, all dark hair and buried in a tan overcoat that was at least two sizes too large for him, stubble peppering his jaw. Dean glanced back at Gabriel once in thanks before heading over and sitting across from him.

****

“Hey,” he said, and Castiel's eyes went wide when he looked up.

****

“Dean-”

****

“Before you say anything, I'm sorry. Fuck, am I ever sorry...I didn't stand you up, I swear. I'm an idiot. I lost your number, and I thought...”

****

“Thought what?”

****

“Thought that you wouldn't want to see me again. You know, after so long. And I thought it was for the best. Thought you deserved someone better. You know, someone who wouldn't put your number in a pocket with a hole in it or be too scared to come back to this damn bar.”

****

“You thought...I didn't want to see you?” Dean nodded. “Well I thought you didn't want to see me. And you never even gave me your number.”

****

“I know...Christ, Cas, I was functioning on three hours' sleep and half a cup of coffee. Can you really blame a guy?” Castiel didn't answer, and Dean looked down at the table. “Look...I messed up. I'm sorry. But I...Cas, that night was amazing. Not just the sex, but the talk. I haven't talked to anyone like that in years, and it felt so damn good, telling you everything, knowing you were listening. I don't...want to treat that like it's nothing.”

****

Castiel sighed, but Dean couldn't help but notice the ghost of a smile creeping onto his lips. “Do you think we could...start over?” Dean asked hesitantly. “Can I buy you a drink? Stay and talk for a bit? I don't know what the outline is for something like this...”

****

“It's alright,” Castiel said. “Sometimes it's better to just make it up as you go.”

****

Dean smiled. “Monday, right? Banana daiquiri? That's your big brother's specialty, isn't it?”

****

“God, no,” Castiel said with a grimace. “Way too sweet.”

****

“That's right. You like it bitter.”

****

“Jack Daniels would be nice,” Castiel offered. Dean grinned, getting up from the booth and heading toward the bar.

****

“Coming right up.”

 


End file.
